


Training Day

by kingairwick



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingairwick/pseuds/kingairwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a little experiment I wrote up thinking about how Peter got to the point in 'Unexpected' where he could summon Sylar's power. Beta'd by the lovely and ever-so-charming, <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://ibroketuesday.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://ibroketuesday.livejournal.com/"></a><b>ibroketuesday</b></p><p>Originally posted on LJ, I wrote this when I was 16. Please, be kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Day

  
**Training Day**

It had all happened at once. He hated that. It’s not like they had all turned a certain age, and ‘boom!’ they had powers. There was no marker, no sign, no warning. It ran in families, but he didn’t grow up having a power. Who or what decided when a person was ready to manifest? Mohinder would say that it was genetics, he would explain it away as if it were a common side effect of growing up. First hormones, then ice breath. The sheer randomness of it all made it undeniably connected.

\----------

Claude was beating the freezing cold out of him with a stick. Never mind that they were on top of a fucking building and he was dangerously close to being knocked off _again_ , but his shoes and favorite pants had also been ruined by the rain. How long had they been out here? Since before the shower, that’s as much as he knew. It was hard to ignore heavy, sopping hair spread all over his face, but it was _kinda_ much more important not to ignore the beating stick.

_Whack._ He couldn’t even complete a thought without- _whack_. DO some- _whack_. If he could only- _whack._

“Enough!” How the hell did Claude think that bruising someone up would help them control their powers? Couldn’t they just, like, focus on one specific power instead of just trying to make random ones surface?

\----------

Somehow, during the course of a month, it got to be that the majority of the people he knew had superpowers, and everyone else in his life had just sort of melted away. Like Rachel from the corner bakery, who always let him pay a week late if he was short on cash. Or Doug, who sometimes waited in the car for fifteen minutes after his shift was over to give Peter a ride home just because it was raining. He hadn’t seen either of them since he’d moved on from tending to Deveaux. Running around the city with an invisible man kinda kills your social life.

Still, he couldn’t quite say it happened at once. Because Peter had dreams of flying long after Nathan knew about his ability. When had Claire found out? And Isaac? It was one of those things that could never be pinpointed. Just floated around between points of view, and all you could do was circle a week on a calendar and say ‘about here’. The worst thing about it was that this was only one of the things he had swarming around in his mind, kept quiet for now because he had something much bigger and more immediate to deal with.

\----------

“I say when it’s enough!”

Yeah right, as if Claude had been there for him all along, as if he knew best. Peter would ask why the hell Claude was his teacher, but he knew the answer. He had no other options, and he still knew that Claude has some sort of soft spot for him. Still, Peter could think of a number of soft spots he now had _because_ of him.

“You’ve got the power to stop me, what are you waiting for?”

_Maybe some instructions, teacher? If I could use my freakin’ powers, I wouldn’t need you now, would I?_

\----------

He wondered if maybe the way he was brought up had delayed the arrival of his power (as if it were a plane). Stuffed into itchy white shirts and ties that choked that smile right onto your face, perhaps he was forced to hide away secrets that even he didn’t knew he had. But why? And then Peter caught himself. He had stopped asking why a long time ago, when he realized that Nathan was the only person who would even attempt a response. Everyone else just accepted their responsibilities blindly. It still annoyed Peter that according to him, he had been the only one in the family to ever think to ask the question. He had bestowed the Petrelli line with the possibility of a question mark. That was his legacy, in more ways than one.

\----------

Fuck, now Claude was going for the legs. Peter hated landing on his knees; he hated dealing with the soreness when he tried to walk afterward. He was usually pretty good about keeping his balance, but after being besieged so relentlessly, his foundations were weakening. He got back up only to be knocked back down. And then he reminded himself that this was not the time to be thinking of Chumbawumba.

“I’m tryin’!”

“When you’ve left New York a smolderin’ wasteland, we’ll put that on your tombstone. ‘Here lies Peter Petrelli! He _tried_.’”

Peter caught the stick on its retreat, but Claude yanked it out of his hands again. Then he pushed him with it and Peter rolled over like a dog. What the fuck? What was the matter with him? This guy kept beating the shit out of him, and he just took it. He could never escape Nathan’s voice in his head telling him what he _should_ be doing instead.

\----------

He wouldn’t have minded being the black sheep of the family if he’d actually had any luck at being a white sheep at school. It was probably because he was trying too hard, and it didn’t help that he was lanky and awkward before it was considered okay to be lanky and awkward. He’d once brought a bottle of vodka from his father’s cabinet to a party, hoping to be the savior. The rich white kid trying to fit in with everyone else. Nathan had pulled him out of that one, after the cops had busted in. By that time he was one of the most highly regarded lawyers in the state, and practically pushed Peter into the courtroom and then pulled him right back out.

\----------

If Claude could just let him think straight for a _second_. Just let him take a breath, or focus, or do anything except avoid being attacked by the broomstick from hell, maybe Peter could actually conjure up something to defeat the blasted thing. It had become first nature to be normal, and now he had to become different in a completely new way. At least he was trying. Everyone else he knew was tucking their powers away under silk rugs and at the bottom of champagne glasses. Compartmentalizing, because there were more important things to be done regarding the future. Hiding in plain sight, because dealing with both worlds was too much. At least he was trying.

\----------

“Dig into that file cabinet of yours and pull something out!” And then the question came up of who trained Claude? How did he know these things? What happened that he decided to permanently be invisible as well as cynical? At least Peter knew where his powers came from.

“Fly!” Nathan. Somehow he always came first.

“Stop time!” Hiro.

“Paint me a pretty picture!” Isaac. Peter didn’t even want to start thinking about Isaac. He wondered where Simone was right now.

“Do…something…unexpected!”

\----------

There was no sense in hiding anything anymore. What was the point of keeping a job where he just felt trapped again? He hated routine, he hated order, they just weren’t his things. Maybe the reason things are so chaotic as they are is because they were meant to be. Fate. Things just get tangled up inside of each other and the only way to get out is to let it flow. To just admit to who you are, accept it, relish it. Be proud of what you can accomplish and use it the only way you know how. To be special.

\----------

“Ha ha! You pushed that away with your mind! Which of your sorry friends has telekinesis?”  



End file.
